A Perfect Holiday
by BelovedAnaktoria
Summary: When Constance Hardbroom's constant bad mood gets too much for even Amelia Cackle to take, she is ordered to go on a trip away from Cackles. And Constance, to her own surprise, finds herself having the perfect holiday.
1. Chapter 1

Constance Hardbroom, feared nemesis of all girls named Mildred Hubble, slammed her office door behind her so hard that the hinges let out a wail of protest.

"Shut up," she told them so fiercely that the second heart rending wail that had begun to emit from the much abused hinges ceased immediately.

While Constance's default state was furious, this time she was at a state that furious just couldn't cover. What was Miss Cackle thinking? Yet again she had taken the side of that outrageous girl, that irritating, idiotic, disrespectful -

She kicked her foot against the nearest pile of books on the floor. Given that the pile was four feet tall they fell over with a satisfying thud, threatening to topple several other piles on their way downwards. Just to even things up, Constance pushed over a few more of the wavering stacks before slamming herself into the chair behind the paper strewn desk, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and prepared for a good sulk.

She was not to get the chance for long. The door sighed open and Amelia Cackle walked in as if she had every right to be there.

She looked around at the mess and shook her head. "I'm always rather surprised by the state of your office, Constance. I have this expectation that your personal areas will be immaculately tidy. I suppose most people would think that too, just by looking at you. Coming in and seeing all this everywhere almost seems shocking."

Constance tried not to grind her teeth too loudly. "I like it untidy. It helps me to think. "

"I think you mean that it stops you from thinking clearly." Amelia pushed her glasses back up onto her nose and raised her hand. "Orderum reduxis illio allio returnum resolvo!"

A whirlwind suddenly sprang into being in the centre of the office, sucking dust and anything not nailed to the floor into its vortex. Constance clung grimly onto her chair and closed her eyes for a long moment. When the noise finally stopped, she took a long breath and opened her eyes.

The office was now absolutely tidy. All the books were neatly shelved, and the miscellaneous papers were pigeonholed in what Constance knew would be perfect order. And Amelia Cackle was comfortably seated in a squashy armchair that hadn't been there ten minutes ago, sniffing a potted daffodil and admiring the winter sunshine pouring through the large window.

"It looks lovely," Constance said flatly. "but it won't last more than a day. I enjoy my clutter, Miss Cackle."

Amelia did not even bother to look abashed. "I, on the other hand, do not enjoy your temper of late, Miss Hardbroom. And," she held up a hand to still Constance's immediate move to respond, "I cannot and will not believe that it has that much to do with Mildred Hubble, no matter how much you dislike her. Constance," her voice softened, "my dear, what is wrong?"

Constance's face was mutinous. Then she flung her hand from the chair in disgust and stood up.

There would not have been a single girl at Miss Cackle's who would have credited what Constance Hardbroom did next. Anyone who had seen it would disbelieve the evidence of her own eyes. Constance Hardbroom, known hardnose, moved towards Amelia Cackle, still seated serenely in her comfortable armchair, and collapsed onto the chair's padded arm, leaning companionably - and familiarly - against Miss Cackle.

Amelia Cackle, extraordinarily, did not register even an iota of surprise.

"They're all so young," Constance finally sighed. "Ridiculously young, and they're getting younger every year, I swear. I look at them and I feel so... old."

Amelia's mouth twisted wryly. "Constance, my dear, we are old. We were here teaching at Cackles when their grandmothers were born. We'll be here teaching at Cackles when their grandchildren are born. Is this so bad?"

"Not bad, Amelia. However I can't help but feel it's an endless task."

"Endless - but surely rewarding, Constance? We are shaping the minds and hearts of the best witches in each generation. It's not an achievement to be sniffed at."

"I don't regret it, exactly." Constance admitted, then threw up her hands in disgust at her own inability to make clear her feelings. She rose from her perch on the arm of Miss Cackle's chair and, rounding her now-tidy desk, sank back into her own chair. "I don't know. I simply feel frustrated with it all."

"Perhaps," Amelia said gently, "you need a holiday?"

"A holiday?" Constance's eyebrows rose in a familiar gesture. "What, pray tell, would I do on a holiday?" The sarcasm lay on her voice like thick honey.

"I don't know," Amelia replied mildly, resuming her focus on the potted daffodil. "Have fun, possibly?"

"And where exactly would I go to do that, Miss Cackle? I loathe travelling, in case you hadn't noticed - or have you forgotten our school excursion to Paris?" She rolled her eyes extravagantly. "What a disaster."

"I do accept that going to Paris in 1789 was not one of my better ideas," Amelia said with a touch of frost. "However, the French Revolution aside, travelling abroad can be a wonderful antidote to a sense of futility. It might help you gain clarity on the problem."

"I don't have a problem," Constance ground out. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm simply -" Yet she couldn't complete the sentence. There was something wrong, something was surely bothering her, but the thought of leaving Cackles felt so horribly uncomfortable that her formidable defences were back in place and firing on all fronts. She couldn't help but snap at Amelia. She folded her arms across her chest and glared.

Amelia rose from her chair. "Constance, my dear, I want you to seriously consider it. Now I've said what I had to say, I shall look forward to seeing you at dinner. That's in two hours, which should give you time enough to have a thorough sulk."

"Sulk?!" Constance's voice rose an octave in the course of one syllable. Then she caught Amelia's grave mouth and laughing eyes, and couldn't help but smile herself.

With a wave of her hand and a sudden slightly wicked smile, Amelia closed the door behind her and left Constance to her thoughts. As ever, after a talk with Amelia, Constance's thoughts were not so dark as before.

A holiday, she mused. Had she ever been on a holiday? As a child, sometimes she had been forced to go along with her parents to their home in Wales, but for the most part she had managed to convince them that staying over in boarding school was best. She had always enjoyed the quietness of the castle when the other students had gone. She practised her spells, caught up on her reading, took long walks though the forest. It was a time of quiet that was deeply soothing. And when she returned to Cackles as a teacher, she had, almost without thinking, resumed that habit. No one even bothered to ask her what she was doing in her holidays anymore.

"But where would I go?" she asked aloud. The thought of spending time in tourist spots appalled her. Anything involving large amounts of sunshine was definitely out as well. Sporty pursuits were of no particular interest: Constance owed the slimness of her figure to a disinterest in food and daily lengthy walks in search of plants to restock supplies constantly depleted by heedless girls who would use a tablespoon of hemlock when a teaspoon would have done.

The two hours before dinner passed remarkably quickly while she mused on the foreign concept of holidays, and she walked down to the staff room still at something of a loss.

Miss Bat was already at the table, contemplating a large roast with obvious pleasure. Miss Drill and Miss Cackle were still absent as Constance picked a few potatoes and a small slice of meat onto a plate. "Miss Bat," she asked abruptly, causing Miss Bat to start at being addressed, "where would you recommend as a holiday destination?"

Miss Bat blinked rapidly. "A holiday?"

"Yes, a holiday destination," Constance snapped. She had tried over the years to get along better with Miss Bat, mostly because Amelia kept asking her to, but the woman's fuzzy-headedness had never ceased to annoy her.

"For who?" Miss Bat looked more confused.

"For *whom*, Miss Bat, and it would be for me."

Miss Bat's eyebrows went even higher. "But Constance, you don't take holidays. You've never taken a holiday. Griselda and Fenella said that there might be a curse on Cackles, and that if you ever leave it, something terrible might happen." She stopped, and frowned. "Or maybe they said Cackles was cursed with you never to leave it, and that was the terrible thing that had happened."

"Miss Bat!" Constance's voice was so loud that both Miss Cackle and Miss Drill paused mid-step on their way into the room. Realising what she had said, Miss Bat immediately gave a squeal, leapt up from her chair, and -

Miss Cackle sighed as the cupboard door banged shut. "One day, those hinges are going to fall apart," she remarked to the air, but then her eyes met Constance's. Constance grimaced.

"What was that all about?" Miss Drill asked.

Constance sighed. "I asked Miss Bat's opinion on holiday destinations, and..." She shrugged, leaving the sentence to drift away, and stared determinedly out the window.

"Holiday destinations?" Miss Drill asked, clearly puzzled.

Amelia jumped in, since clarification from Constance was clearly not forthcoming. "I suggested to Constance that she take her holidays outside the castle this year. We've only two weeks until break time, so there's very little time for Constance to make her plans."

"I've decided against the whole idea," Constance swung her face round to face the other two teachers. "I will stay in the castle as I normally do."

"I'm afraid you won't, Constance. Not this year." Amelia's face was calm, but her voice was quietly determined.

"What?" Constance was openly shocked.

"Ah," Miss Drill moved towards the door. "I think I will go check on the Dangerous Old Books Society. Just to see what they're up to. Cold roast tastes better anyway." The last few words were muffled as she was already through the door while saying them.

"Miss Cackle, have I understood you correctly? You're... kicking me out?" Constance was on her feet without even realising it.

"Constance." Amelia's voice was firm, but the choice of use of her first name calmed Constance's stomach. A little bit. "You need a change of routine. You've been unhappy for months, and I won't let you keep being unhappy. You will take a holiday, you will take it somewhere you have never been before, and I will make certain you enjoy yourself even if I have to come along!"

Constance blinked. Then her jaw firmed. If Amelia was going to be high handed, well, so could she be. "Then I look forward to your company, Miss Cackle - wherever we end up."

If Constance had to lose her comfortable holiday routine, at least she had the satisfaction of the look on Amelia Cackle's face when she realised she had painted herself right into a corner.


	2. Chapter 2

Once Amelia Cackle had committed herself to something, things happened quickly. It seemed no time at all that Constance had a ticket shoved into her hand as she was coming out of the Potions lab after a class with the fourth years.

She looked down, "Witch Air", she read aloud. "To... Australia?" She looked at Amelia with something approaching shock. "Why in Merlin's name did you chose Australia?"

"Tasmania, actually," Amelia said. "Which is part of Australia, though apparently they don't think so. The Tasmanians, that is, not the Australians."

"I understand the geography, Miss Cackle. I just don't understand why you would chose the Antipodes for our holiday. They have flies. And cork hats." She saw a couple of the girls hanging back, obviously curious. "If you don't have somewhere else to be, Ruby Cherrytree and Maude Moonshine, you can always serve a detention." The girls scattered with a satisfying haste.

"Because it is somewhere you have never been, Miss Hardbroom. In fact, it's somewhere I have never been. My aunt suggested it. Apparently," Amelia said chattily as they began strolling towards the staff room, "they have a large witch community at a place called Lake St. Clair. And next week is their annual festival. They have competitions on magical feats and potions, music and chants, and something called 'dreamtime painting', which sounds fascinating."

Constance sniffed. "I can't imagine they would have much that would be of interest to us."

"Don't be so sure, Constance," Amelia opened the staff room door and looked sideways at her taller colleague. "Many of the witches in the community have been there long before European settlement. The history of their magic, and much of its basis, is quite, quite different to ours. I also happen to know that botanically Australia, and in particular Tasmania, is remarkable. There are plants there which are found nowhere else in the world, animals and insects unchanged for a hundred million years and I understand they have made some very interesting potions with them."

"Well," Constance began, then stopped. It did, irritatingly, sound interesting.

Effortlessly reading Constance's mind, Amelia's mouth went up at the corners just the smallest bit. "Cream cake, Constance?" she inquired innocently, holding one out.

"You know I don't eat them, Amelia." No one else was in the staff room, so Constance sat on the arm of the comfortable chair near the fire that Amelia had acquired, happily eating the rejected cream cake. "You also know those things really aren't good for you."

"They are good, though," Amelia replied, licking the last of the cream off a finger. "I suppose I couldn't prevail on you for a cup of tea, Constance?"

Constance waved an absent hand and the teapot obediently hovered in the air, waiting while the milk jug poured some of its contents into a bone china cup. "You've really gone out of your way with this holiday idea, haven't you, Amelia? You've truly tried to find something that would appeal to me. Why not just book me on a flight to anywhere and have done with it?"

Amelia looked up, frowning. "I want you to enjoy yourself, Constance. This isn't a punishment. I want you to be happy."

A full cup of tea floated over from the table and Amelia caught it by the handle, raising it to her lips in the same movement.

Constance felt a stab of compunction. Amelia had gone to a great degree of trouble over this plan, and Constance had trapped her into it, keeping her from her usual much-looked-forward-to holiday with her family. "Amelia," she began, then stopped, not sure how to frame what she wanted to say.

Amelia waited patiently, her eyes on Constance while she sipped her tea.

"If you would prefer," Constance began hesitantly, "to go back to your usual plans, I will endeavour to - to enjoy myself in Tasmania alone."

Now Amelia really frowned. "Constance, are you saying you don't want my company?"

"No!" Constance was shocked at the notion. "Amelia, I acted foolishly in forcing you to come with me, and I - now I feel terrible about it. I don't want to spoil your holiday because you feel an obligation to entertain me."

Amelia snorted, "Obligation, my aunt. Don't you realise I'm genuinely looking forward to this trip? And to sharing it with you?"

Constance felt a small bloom of warmth in her chest at Amelia's words. A glow that she realised was matched by a sudden crimson flush that stained Amelia's cheeks. Amelia downed the rest of her tea in one gulp and stood up abruptly.

"Now that we've cleared up any confusion, we'd better talk about the weather. Tasmania has a cold winter, and the area we are going to is quite high up. We'd best pack very warm clothes - perhaps capes - and we'll need anti-freezing charms for our brooms..."

Amelia began walking around the room listing off items while Constance looked at her with the dawning realisation that the always-together Miss Cackle, that very knowing, very smart woman was actually - there was no other phrase for it - nervously babbling.


	3. Chapter 3

The last of the students was a black dot on the horizon, winging their way homeward for a blessed two weeks of summer break. Miss Drill turned to her colleagues.

"Well, I'm off," she said, swinging onto her bike. "I'll see you all in two weeks, when the hordes return." Her eyes twinkling, the PE teacher sped away, her bike almost flying over the forest path and disappearing quickly among the trees.

"Mongolia awaits!" declared Miss Bat, hanging a large beaded dreamcatcher over the end of her broom. Then she was away, her final "Farewell!" hanging in the vacant air.

Miss Hardbroom turned to Miss Cackle. "And that's everybody gone. Even Mr Blossom has taken the holiday away this year."

"Well, he certainly deserves to get away, but it does mean that we'll have to put a protective charm on the castle before we leave. Are you ready to go, Constance?"

Constance disappeared, then reappeared almost immediately holding her broom and a small neat valise.

"Right," said Amelia. "I'll just go and collect my broom and case, and we can go straight to Witch Air. Our flight leaves in half an hour."

She turned back into the castle while Constance waited outside. The day was beautifully warm, and the green leaves of the forest whispered gently to each other in the soft breeze. Constance felt a sudden pang of unexpectedly deep regret. She realised that it wasn't just the quiet of a student-free Cackles Academy that she preferred; it was the place itself she cherished, and not being here for the holidays felt almost like a betrayal. The warmth of the castle stones on her back as she leant against the wall, the small summer flowers that she glimpsed beyond the trees, the blueness of the sky all seemed to call to her to stay.

"But I will be with Amelia," she said softly, aloud, and the sound of her own voice woke her to the fact that she had been standing here for quite some time, and surely it shouldn't take Amelia that long to get her case and broom?

She went back into the castle and the flight of stairs outside Amelia's room greeted her with the sight of the crumpled form of the headmistress at its foot.


	4. Chapter 4

"Four days", said the doctor flatly. She finished winding the bandage around Miss Cackles's foot.

"But we were supposed to go to Tasmania," protested Miss Cackle, albeit a little faintly. Constance looked at her with worried eyes. The headmistress looked very frail in her bed with her right foot bandaged and a pale face. The doctor's potion was starting to take effect, and she looked very weary.

"That was a nasty fall, and you aren't a young woman. Your ankle is going to swell up tremendously in a few hours, and you need to give yourself plenty of time to rest and recover from the concussion. Four days bed rest, and be grateful I'm not putting you in hospital overnight." She turned to Constance. "Any confusion, dizziness, vomiting, anything like that, take her to St. Margaret's immediately. And don't take no for an answer."

"I won't," said Constance.

"Call me if you need me." The doctor picked up her bag and unceremoniously left.

A minute or two later Constance could see her flying past the tower from the window.

"Constance, dear, I'm so sorry," Amelia's voice was quite faint. The shock was beginning to pass and reaction to set in. "I can't believe I was so foolish. To trip going up my own staircase."

"Hush," said Constance both softly and fiercely. "We can go another time. The only thing that matters is that you are all right."

Amelia moved her hand towards Constance, and Constance took it in both her own.

"Just rest now," Constance urged. Amelia looked up at her with a sudden vulnerability in her eyes, and Constance couldn't stop a wave of urgent protectiveness welling up in her. She leant forward and pressed her lips gently against Amelia's forehead. "Just rest. I'll be here." A chair flew across the room to her and she sat on it, still keeping Amelia's hand between her own. "I'll be here," she said again as Amelia's eyes fluttered closed.

#

"This is foolish, Constance. I feel fine. I want to get up."

"The doctor said four days, Amelia. This is only day three. You can't get up yet. Now eat your gruel."

"I don't want gruel. I want cream cakes." Amelia grimaced. "This is terrible."

Constance raised an eyebrow. "I find it quite pleasant," she said, taking another spoonful. Then she looked at Amelia's downcast face and relented. She disappeared and then reappeared, holding a white cardboard bakery box.

"I went to Mrs Cosy's Tea House before you work up this morning," she explained, as Amelia's face lit up.

"Constance! I could kiss you! Bring it here," she said, patting the side of her bed eagerly.

Constance did as requested, but blushed faintly as she did. "There will be no need for kisses, thank you, Miss Cackle."

"Why not?" Amelia asked blithely, fingers busily opening the box. "You kissed me before."

The faint blush turned tomato red. "I was upset," Constance said tightly.

Amelia looked up from the box. "Constance? What's upset you?"

"You at the foot of the stairs in a heap, that's what upset me!" Constance snapped.

"I don't mean then," Amelia said. "I mean now. You're upset now. What is it, Constance?"

"Nothing."

The contents of the box were, for a wonder, forgotten. "You're upset about kissing me? Why? I thought it was lovely."

Tomato red brightened to fire engine red.

"I felt very cared for and safe. I'm sure it helped me sleep better. You're a dear friend, Constance. Why would you regret showing me you cared?"

"It isn't regret I feel," Constance snapped. She sat on the edge of the bed, shoving the pastries out of the way, and placed her fingertips gently on the sides of Amelia Cackles's face. Then she leaned forward.

Maybe there should have been fireworks. But there weren't. There was a sense of wonder that this was happening at all, of a deep pleasure at the feel of Amelia's lips, with their softness of rose petals, against her own, and a joy that she'd never known before when when she felt Amelia's hands pressing gently on her back, pulling her closer. But most of all there was a feeling of coming home at last, the rightness that was Cackles and Amelia and magic in a perfect, unforgettable moment.

"Umm," Amelia said meditatively when their lips finally parted, "I'm not sure that kiss is going to help me sleep." Her fingers stroked Constance's hair, leaving little electric trails down Constance's neck. Constance shivered at the feeling, shivered even more at the look - a yearning she had never seen before - in Amelia's eyes.

"Did you want to sleep?" she asked.

"Afterwards, perhaps," Amelia said. She moved over, giving Constance more space on her side of the bed. "Come lie with me, Constance."

"But your concussion?"

"I have never felt less of a headache in my life," Amelia said firmly.


	5. Chapter 5

Constance lay facing Amelia, who had started stroking her hair again. The pins were coming out, one by one, under Amelia's clever fingers, and vanishing as they came free of Constance's hair. The long silky rope began to unwind over Constance's shoulder. Amelia smiled.

"I've always loved your hair down," she said quietly.

Constance really wasn't interested in talking. She leaned closer to Amelia and captured her mouth again.

Rose petals and deliciousness and home and suddenly Constance realised she wasn't just kissing Amelia, she was being kissed by Amelia, with the same lush enjoyment that Amelia bought to cream cakes. Her lower lip was tongued and tasted, her mouth elegantly plundered, all her senses narrowed to this one point, and suddenly there was the faint pressure of Amelia's hand on the mound of her centre and she could feel the heat and the weight of it through her clothes.

Constance was not, contrary to student opinion, a virgin. But nothing in her admittedly brief and few previous encounters had ever felt so necessary as the feel of Amelia Cackle's hand right there on her body. She groaned against Amelia's mouth, and her hips rose to feel that pressure more firmly.

Amelia's lips left hers only to resettle on her neck, and her fingers spread out to cup Constance's centre. Then they started to stroke, slowly and definitely and even through her clothes Constance could feel every electric millimetre of every stroke those fingers made.

She gasped aloud, "Amelia!"

Amelia looked up from her luxurious exploration of Constance's jawline, tiny nibbling kisses that felt like a warm velvet flower sucking her skin, and her eyes were almost dazed. "Beautiful... Constance," she said, and then she registered the frantic look in Constance's wide eyes, and the look in her own changed from dazed to an almost ferocious hunger.

The satin material between her fingers and Constance's centre disappeared, and now her fingers were stroking heated flesh, sliding in a sweet wetness, and the pressure of the hand pushed Constance down upon the bed. Amelia was above her now, her other hand cupping the back of Constance's head, tangled in her hair, while those clever fingers found her nub and moved over it, lightly but rhythmically, becoming firmer in their touch as Constance wound her arms around Amelia and pulled her closer, even as her hips pushed themselves towards Amelia, as if on their own accord seeking more and more of that sweet, delirious, maddening, necessary touch.

Constance's last coherent thought was, "Amelia's eyes. They're like sunlight." And then Amelia was kissing her again, consuming her with her mouth and her fingers, and her fingers were inside her, and all she could feel was this, this thunder, this heat and tightness and Amelia and her body arching helplessly and the movement of Amelia's fingers and the heat of Amelia's mouth was all the world until the world came to a sharp ecstatic peak like a diamond shattering and thundered away in long delicious pulsing that flowed through her like thick sweet syrup while she clung tightly to Amelia and her hips slammed against her and moaned Amelia's name again and again against her hungry mouth.

Consciousness returned with her breath, and the kisses of Amelia, softer but still hungry, on lips that felt fuller and more sensitive than they had ever felt before.

She looked up at Amelia with as much intelligence as she could summon. It wasn't much.

"I want you, Constance," Amelia said softly.

Constance frowned in dazed confusion. "You've just had me." But Amelia had already slid down the bed, and Constance's skirt slid up, and her legs, too rubbery to protest, were being moved gently apart.

"Oh... no, I can't, I couldn't possibly, not so soon -" But Amelia's lips were a gentle pressure on the lips of her centre and Constance couldn't stop a sudden gasp that gave her words the lie.

"One of the joys of being two women making love," Amelia said between soft kisses, "is that it doesn't have to stop for a very long time."

Then Amelia's tongue replaced her kisses, moving deeper into her centre, and Constance learned that while what Amelia's fingers could do was magic, what Amelia could do with her mouth was on a higher order altogether.


	6. Chapter 6

Constance looked at the large picnic basket with a critical eye. It was filled to overflowing with blankets, brightly patterned cushions, and mysterious paper bags. "It's simply too heavy, Amelia," she said as Amelia dragged it down from the kitchen table. It fell to the floor with a thump reminiscent of a building falling down.

Amelia looked at her with brightly mischievous eyes. "If I use a lightening spell, won't that be a trivial use of magic, Constance?"

"Probably," Constance admitted. "But I can't see that we're going to enjoy this silly picnic any more with hernias from carrying this thing all the way down to the pond."

"Oh, good," said Amelia and pointed her finger. The basket levitated up to her waist and hovered obediently. "Shall we go?"

The day outside Castle Overblow's walls was inviting to all the senses. Constance's sensitive nose immediately caught the scents of sunwarmed lavendar, mint and rosemary, though it took a few moments longer for her to catch the subtler scents of thyme and foxglove. The bright summer sun also warmed her back, clad in a lightweight dress that nonetheless covered her from neck to toe. And beside her was Amelia, also in a black robe, though her was subtly shot through with a midnight blue, humming as she walked lightly through the path.

Constance frowned suddenly. "You've stopped taking the swelling potion," she accused.

"I generally do on holidays," said the quite trim Amelia, pausing briefly to pick a bluebell. "I don't really enjoy carrying around all that extra volume, you know, even if it is more illusion than anything else."

Constance snorted. "I don't know why you bother taking it at all."

"Because, Miss Hardbroom, we do not want the girls to have an unbalanced diet. And if they realise they can turn spinach into cream cakes and eat as much as they like without getting sick, they would refuse to eat anything but cream cakes, and their tastebuds would grow too used to sugary tastes. It would cause them all sorts of problems in later life. So they see me eating cream cakes, and they see me getting fat, and I serve as the perfect object lesson of why porridge and school stew are better things to eat." With a little flourish Amelia presented the bluebell to her disapproving lover.

"Or," Constance pointed out, "you could simply stop eating the cream cakes." She looked at the bluebell in her hand in a certain amount of puzzlement. Its potions' value was almost nothing, and normally that would have been enough to make her toss it away. But Amelia had given it to her. She finally tucked it into her belt.

Amelia watched with a smile. "True," she said. "But in case you haven't noticed, Constance, I very much enjoy eating sweet things."

The double entendre flushed Constance's cheeks very red. The last few days had given every evidence to Amelia's statement. The other witch had seemed determined to use every moment of the holiday as effectively as possible. Constance had never known such an affectionate relationship. It warmed her and slightly scared her all at the same time.

Acting on an unfamiliar impulse, she reached out and gently clasped Amelia's hand. Amelia lifted it to her lips and kissed it gently. Hands together, they entered the clearing next to the pond.

The clear water glittered brightly in the sun as Amelia let the picnic basket drop down onto the grassy verge. With a wave of her hand the huge blanket spread itself out and the cushions dropped on it invitingly. Then Amelia started unwrapping the paper bags and soon a very tasty mini banquet was laid out before them.

Constance looked in the basket. It was empty. "You've forgotten our swimming costumes. You said you wanted to swim?"

Before she could raise her hand to summon them, Amelia stopped her. "Indeed I want to swim. And given that there is no one here but us in the entire forest, I plan on doing just that." And suddenly her clothes were in a neat pile near the blanket and Amelia was treading water in the deepest part of the pool, only her head and shoulders visible.

"Come swim with me, Constance."

Amelia watched her younger lover stand uncertain at the water's edge and had a momentary pang of doubt. Was she pushing Constance too far? The last few days had been a wonder to Amelia, the loveliest she had ever had in an incredibly long life; centuries of suppressed tenderness being allowed, at last, full and free expression. The knowledge that Constance trusted her, wanted her, would allow her to love her; it was a glory that was undimmable. Amelia had known love several times in the course of her life, but this was something new to her experience. To be able to reach out to Constance, to hold her, kiss her, touch her - it was an addiction she could not feed enough.

But she had known Constance for centuries - it had taken her over a century to admit to herself that the affection she had felt towards the girl who was once her pupil had become something more, greater even than friendship. She had watched Constance's dating men with a sense both of despair and hope, and watched the fallout from those attempts with a simply reversed sense of despair and hope. And she had lulled away centuries in the carnal embraces of other witches who, like her, had adjusted to long lives with the unspoken knowledge that time eroded despair, hope, lust, love, all the sharp edged emotions of shorter lives, and that the best that could be gained was enjoyment and friendship and a pleasant interlude of sensuality which would come to a natural end.

How wrong, so wrong she had been. How wrong they had all been. Because with Constance all her sharp edged emotions had come back in a flood which washed away any restraint, and the world was a glittering diamond that dazzled her eyes. And right now her glittering diamond still stood on the grass beside the pool, fully clothed, and Amelia felt like her heart would break at the uncertainty in Constance's eyes.

"It's all right, Constance, I'll come out," she said, and started to swim back.

But Constance's head tilted up, her jaw determined, and she held up her hand in a gesture clearly intended to stay Amelia's advance. And then her hands went to the tiny buttons at her throat and slowly, deliberately, Constance Hardbroom began to disrobe for her lover at the water's edge.

Amelia felt her own breath guttering in her lungs. Constance's pale skin emerged slowly from the dark material, her throat now visible, her navy silk slip covering her torso as she reached the buttons at her hip and let the dress fall to the ground, stepping away from it with long shapely legs and elegant feet. She paused for a moment, and then reached to the bottom of her slip and drew it in one smooth movement over her head. Naked, she walked unflinchingly into the cool water, and just as the water reached up her legs to her mons veneris, she stopped. Amelia was sure her breath did stop as Constance muttered a word, and her dark silky hair suddenly fell onto her shoulders and down her body to her hips, the ends floating in the water as she moved deeper into the pool towards Amelia.

Amelia swam to her and before Constance could give voice to the sardonic remark that was surely hovering around her lips, she had gathered her in her arms and was kissing her. Cool skin warming quickly under each other's lips, her hands on Constance's bare back, the taste of Constance's wet skin, a nipple pebbly with cold and desire in her mouth. Legs intertwined, and Amelia nearly screamed aloud through desperate kisses as Constance's fingers were suddenly inside her, cold against heated flesh and moving with careful unpractised desire, Constance's mouth on her breast, suckling hard, sending her over the edge to a place where only Constance existed. And even as she clung shuddering to her lover, crying out her release, Amelia realised that long or short, life without this moment would be utterly empty.


	7. Chapter 7

"Headmistress?"

"Mmm?"

"Headmistress, I think we need to talk."

"Constance." Amelia rolled over with some effort. Constance was kneeling bolt upright. "Constance, we are completely alone. We have just made love several times. We are both naked. I don't think, under the circumstances, you really need to call me Headmistress."

"Miss Cackle -"

"Constance!"

"Amelia! Amelia." Constance looked flustered. "I am sorry. I am nervous."

That immediately woke Amelia up. She moved closer and kissed Constance's knee. "Dear, there is absolutely nothing to be nervous about." She placed another kiss a little higher up, just to reinforce the point.

"Yes, there is," Constance said forcefully. Her eyes were dark and wide, and she avoided looking at Amelia; an Amelia now thoroughly alarmed. "There is something to be nervous about because this matters. It matters, Amelia." She finally looked down at Amelia. "Where do we go from here? What happens to us when the students come back?"

Amelia stared up at Constance, terrified suddenly that her answer would be wrong, but knowing it was the only answer she could make. "I would want us to continue, Constance." She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. "I love you."

And the wide dark eyes were looking into her soul and then suddenly Constance's arms were pulling her upright even as her mouth came down hard on hers in a kiss that said everything.

#

"We still have to work out how to manage this, Amelia. Us, I mean," Constance said sleepily. It was much later that evening. Even the summer nights near Castle Overblow were too chilly to allow two naked witches to spend the night under the stars. Constance had transported both of them and the picnic basket directly into Constance's room. Now both of them were curled under a goosedown quilt in Constance's narrow bed, and the picnic basket was shoved into a corner. The candlelight from the single candleabra played over it, masking its contents with shadows.

"Umm," Amelia said. A larger bed might be nice, she thought. Though this one had benefits. Constance was spooning her, her lean body curled up around her, and Amelia couldn't think of a nicer possible way to sleep, now that she really considered it.

"I mean, there are the staff to consider," Constance continued. "Is it fair to tell them, if we don't want the students to know? And," she yawned against Amelia's hair, "I don't think we can have the students know. The gossip would make teaching unbearable. But if we tell someone like Miss Bat, then she's bound to tell someone like Griselda and Fennella, and -"

"Constance." Amelia rolled over. "We will be as we normally are around staff and students, and when we are alone," she took Constance's hand and kissed her fingers, "we will be us. And I would like very much if we were alone together with a great deal of frequency."

A smile on Constance Hardbroom's face was not often seen; and when it was it was often sardonic. This was not. It was luminous. "Goodnight, Amelia," she said softly.

"Goodnight, beloved Constance." Wrapping her arms around her lover, Amelia seemed to fall asleep almost at once.

"I love you." It was the fragment of a whisper, practically inaudible, but Amelia's arms tightened around Constance just as Constance's tightened around Amelia, cherishing the presence of each other and the feeling both had of being utterly at home.

#

Imogen Drill pedalled up the forest trail towards the castle and gave a small inward sigh. She did enjoy her job; it was exciting and unusual, and going back to schools with pupils without magical abilities would be quite an adjustment. But she'd spent the last two weeks doing an amazing drama course, and it had made her aware of the opportunities that 'normal' schools offered that Cackles Academy simply did not. An example would be, well, drama. A really great way for the girls to express themselves creatively. But it would be highly unlikely that Miss Cackle would go for it; and even if she did, Constance Hardbroom would disapprove of it loudly until she'd worn Miss Cackle right down.

Still, even so, it was an amazing place to work, she mused as she moved quickly and easily towards the castle. It did look fantastic, nestled in the trees. And the early morning runs were paradise.

Her spirits rose. After all, there was no harm in proposing a drama course to Miss Cackle, she decided as she entered through Walkers Gate and swung down off her bike.

The courtyard still had an empty look - no wonder, with the girls due back tomorrow. But suddenly Constance Hardbroom was there, and even with the absence of the girls, Cackles Academy stopped being a romantic old castle and started being Cackles Academy again. Imogen sighed.

"Good morning, Miss Hardbroom," she called, and wheeled her bike towards the witch. As ever, there was no difference between Constance Hardbroom during term time and Constance Hardbroom during what was still technically summer break. The outfit was still black, still completely form fitting - and how did the woman manage to keep a figure like that when Imogen had never seen her exercise? - the lips were still burgundy and the bun was omnipresent. Imogen herself was wearing a rather colourful biking outfit that was perhaps a little too skimpy to wear around the girls. "How was Australia?"

Miss Hardbroom gave her a look that could only be described as confused. "What?"

"Your trip. With Miss Cackle. To Tasmania?" Now Imogen was confused.

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that," Constance said half to herself. There was a slight tremble to her lip, as if she fought back a smile. "We didn't go, Miss Drill. Amelia fell down the stairs immediately after you left, and it wasn't safe for her to travel. So we stayed here instead."

"Is she all right?" Imogen was concerned. She knew witches lived very long lives, but Miss Cackle struck her as being old even for a witch, and falls at whatever age she was could possibly be serious.

Miss Hardbroom's lips twitched again. What was wrong with the woman? "She seems quite fit to me."

"Good," said Imogen, relieved. "I'm very sorry about your holiday, though. Must've ruined your break."

"I wouldn't say it was a bad holiday, even so. Very peaceful."

Poor Amelia, stuck here in the castle, unwell and with Miss Hardbroom for her constant companion. Imogen made a mental note to jog down to Mrs Cosy's later and get some of those cream buns the Headmistress seemed so mad about. The poor woman probably needed some thoughtful care. "Well, even so. It must have been a disappointment for you both."

Miss Hardbroom made a non committal noise. "We have a new pupil coming in tomorrow for the first years - Enid Nightshade. She was at day witch school, but her parents feel she'd get more benefit from boarding school. So there will be one extra in your classes tomorrow."

Imogen nodded. "Lovely, Miss Hardbroom. I'll see you in the staff room later on." She still couldn't work out why there was still that faint suggestion of a smile on Constance Hardbroom's face. It was just - odd.

Constance Hardbroom watched the PE teacher wheel her bike into the broom shed and disappear into the castle. Then, alone in the courtyard, she walked through Walkers Gate and looked out at the forest around the castle. The day was warm and splendid, and the air smelt of flowers. Tomorrow the girls would come back, and term time with its upsets and dramas would begin again. And the circle that was her life would continue.

But there was no trace of her earlier frustrations. Because now there was Amelia; Amelia to talk with and argue with as she had ever been, but now Amelia to smile at, and touch, and be Constance's Amelia; as Constance had always, in her heart, felt herself to be Amelia's Constance. And that made every possible difference.

"I wouldn't say it was a bad holiday, Miss Drill," she thought to herself. "I spent it in the place I love best, with the person I love best, lost in loving and being loved. I think," she finished, looking over the forest she knew so well and leaning against the stones of the castle that had been her shelter for so many years, "that it was, in fact, the perfect holiday."


End file.
